


Thanks For Listening

by TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite



Series: Spn Kink Bingo 2019 [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dirty Talk, Eventual Smut, F/M, Pining, Unprotected Sex, hurt!reader, voice!kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 19:30:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20431265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite/pseuds/TheLittleRedWhoCouldWrite
Summary: Sam hosts two podcasts - a secret one for hunters called the War Room and a public one with fellow hunter Y/N called Criminal History. Y/N and Sam have never seen each other, let alone met, but that doesn’t stop Sam from worrying when Y/N suddenly goes missing.Square: Free SpaceBetaed by manawhaat. Header by me and manawhaat.





	1. Cover Art




	2. Chapter 1

You rest your elbows on the cheap motel table, leaning on it as you speak into the microphone. "Chief, you've heard my thoughts on this. What do you think?"

There's a pause, the same little dramatic one Sam does every time, and then that rich voice you adore says, "I think he's guilty as hell."

You can't suppress a small laugh at Sam's straight-forward statement. "Well, folks, the Chief has spoken - and the jury has, too. _Guilty. As. Hell._ Keith Hunter Jesperson, A.K.A. the Happy Face Killer, was sentenced to life without parole and is currently housed in Oregon State Penitentiary. If you want to hear another side of this story, I recommend the podcast _Happy Face_, which is hosted by Melissa Moore, Jesperson's daughter. Anything else you want to add?"

"Definitely check out that _Happy Face_ podcast, guys. It's a great one."

"Thanks, Chief. Until next time, then, folks. This is _Criminal History_. Thanks for listening."

You sit back from the mic, both you and Sam leaving a moment of silence where Sam can later cut the recording and add in the outro music.

"How was that?" you ask. "Think we need to go again?"

"No, you were great," Sam assures you. "You always are. You know that."

Your cheeks warm at the compliment. "I know," you say, putting on a little bit of a playfully cocky tone. "I just like hearing you say it."

Sam laughs and your stomach does happy flips. "Fine," he teases. "I see how it is. You're just using me for my voice."

"You caught me," you say with enough playfulness in your voice to hopefully combat the heat in your cheeks, even though Sam can't see that.

You find yourself staring longingly at the computer screen, wishing for the hundredth time today alone that you could see Sam's face. But, unfortunately, voice recordings are easier on shitty motel WiFi than video calls are. At least, that’s what you’ve both been telling each other. In all honesty, Sam’s a little paranoid about having his face on a video call, seeing as he’s supposed to be dead multiple times over. You’ve seen the old mugshots and videos from the news reports years ago, though, and you have the distinct feeling Sam’s simply gotten better with age.

“If you think we’ve got everything we need, I’m gonna stop my recording,” you continue, pushing past your wandering thoughts.

“We’re good. Go ahead and stop the recording.”

You do just that, saving the file and uploading it to a file sharing service Sam found. “File’s uploading now. We’ll see how long it takes on this motel WiFi. I’m surprised we didn’t have any connection issues. The WiFi really sucked earlier.”

“Gotta love motel WiFi. What episode number is this?”

“47 according to my notes,” you reply. “We’re not even to 50 and you’re already losing track?”

“I’m running two podcasts. There’s only so much my brain can handle.”

“What? Sam Winchester’s brain has a limit? Alert the media.”

You can practically _hear_ his eyes rolling. “Ha ha. You still chasing that vamp nest?”

“Unfortunately. I’m gonna meet up with Allen Burton tomorrow. He caught wind of the nest moving south past Moab.”

“Allen. I’m not familiar with that name. He’s experienced?”

“Not as experienced as I would prefer but everyone else is caught up in something or on the other end of the country, and I’m not waiting around for these bastards to kill anyone else.”

Sam makes a soft, displeased sound. “Be careful, okay?”

Your heart warms at the concern in Sam’s voice and you try to play it off with a little joking. “Always am.”

Sam doesn’t fall for your change of tone, though. “Y/N. Please. Vampires are no joke.”

“I know. I’ll be careful,” you promise, suddenly eager to reassure him.

“Call or text me when you’ve got the nest wrapped up?”

“Of course.”

* * *

Sam is reluctant to end the call. He always is. Y/N is just so easy to talk to, which is part of why they make such good co-hosts. Recording their weekly episodes are one of the highlights of his week.

He reaches over and flicks the switch on the wall behind his desk - the one connected to the “Quiet Please. Recording in Progress” sign and the red light above his office door. This was his own special addition to this room and the wiring was a giant pain in the ass but it was definitely worth it to minimize the sounds in the hall outside. 

Someone knocks on the door as soon as the sign and light are turned off. “Come in,” he calls, saving his own audio file to a folder he’ll download Y/N’s to once it’s uploaded.

“Ya done in here?” Dean asks, poking his head in.

“Done with _Criminal History_,” Sam tells him, spinning his chair around. Another worthwhile investment, his nice desk chair. “Still gotta record an interview for the _War Room_.”

“I’m Sam Winchester,” Dean says in a gruff voice, stepping fully into the room. “Welcome to the War Room.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “I don’t sound like that.”

“You totally sound like that.”

“Do you have a reason for being here or are you just being annoying?”

Dean holds up a plate Sam didn’t notice he had. “Dinner.”

“Have I really been in here that long?” Sam asks, happily accepting the plate to find that Dean made chicken and rice with chipotle green onion gravy.

“You sure have. You and Y/N must’ve been a coupla of old Chatty Cathy’s today. .”

“Yeah, it took us a while to get going,” Sam admits around a bite of food.

“What’s she been up to?”

“Still tracking that vamp nest. It’s moved into southern Utah now and she’s gonna meet up with another hunter, some guy named Allen, to finally take care of it. Well, that’s what she’s hoping for, at least.”

“You two gonna hang out once she wraps that case up?”

Dean shoots Sam a wink and Sam responds with a glare. That only prompts his brother to laugh.

“Seriously, Sammy,” Dean says. “You’ve been digital pen pals for over a year. It’s about time you finally meet.”

Dean’s right and Sam knows he is, but it’s his duty as the younger brother to never admit it. Truthfully, Sam’s dying to meet Y/N. As hunters, they’re both a little paranoid about new people and despite knowing each other for so long, they’ve never actually video chatted, let alone met in person. He trusts Y/N, though. He feels like he really knows who she is, after all their texting and phone calls pre-podcast, all the time they spend just talking ‘off the clock’, and the hours of recorded chat he sometimes edits down into bonus episodes.

In all honesty, Sam _likes_ Y/N. He likes her a lot. He’d never tell her that, though. They’ve got a good thing going and he doesn’t want to ruin that with his own mess of feelings when it’s so much easier to just keep things to himself.

“We’ll see,” is all Sam gives his brother. He drains his water bottle washing down a mouthful of rice and shakes the empty container at Dean. “Can you go fill this?”

“I’m not your butler,” Dean grumbles even as he takes the water bottle.

“Thank you!” Sam calls after him, spinning to put his plate on the desk and really go to town on his dinner. It’s a simple recipe but a delicious one, if a little spicy.

Dean returns with the water bottle just as Sam is scraping his plate clean.

“You’re the best,” Sam says, happily accepting the bottle in exchange for the plate.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean replies. “Don’t you forget it.”

“I won’t. Now get out so I can record.”

As soon as the door is closed behind Dean, Sam flicks his sign on again and swings over to his microphone. He drinks a little water to clear his throat, checks the clock to see that he has a few minutes left until his guest hunter calls, and hits the record button. A thirty-second wait for white noise and then he leans in a little closer to the microphone than he usually does for _Criminal History_.

“I’m Sam Winchester,” he says, unable to resist being just a _little_ dramatic. “Welcome to the War Room.”

* * *

Y/N texts Sam right up until she and Allen are headed out to where they think the vamps are hiding, three days after they’d first met up.

She doesn’t text Sam after that.

* * *

_"You've reached Y/N. I'm probably off having more fun than you are. Leave a message."_

Sam signs, scrubbing a hand over his face as he enters the bunker kitchen. "Y/N, it's Sam. Again. Please call me as soon as you can." He hangs up, tapping his phone against his hand as he fights the urge to call again.

"She still not answering?" Dean asks from where he's standing at the stove frying bacon.

Sam shakes his head and shoved his phone in his pocket. "It's been almost a week. I'm getting really worried."

"Do you know where the nest was? Maybe you should go check on her."

"Somewhere in southern Utah. I don't know exactly where, though. Last we spoke she said the vamps had holed up somewhere not on a map." Sam slams one hand flat against the door of the fridge before running that same hand through his hair. "Shit, I should've gotten the coordinates from her."

"Hey, hey," Dean says, dumping bacon onto a paper towel and returning the pan to the burner. "I'm sure she's fine. She probably just lost her phone somewhere and hasn't been able to get a new one"

"After a week?" Sam shoots Dean an incredulous look.

"Just trying to think positively."

Sam slumps, leaning against the fridge. "I know. I'm just-"

"Really worried. I know. I can tell." Dean nudges Sam to the side so he can get a carton of eggs from the fridge. "Are there any hunters we know that are in the area and can check on her?"

"I don't know. I think Charlie was in Idaho."

"Well,” Dean says, cracking a couple of eggs straight into the bacon grease that still coats the pan. “Go give Charlie a call."

Sam feels a little better having something he can do right now and he immediately pulls his phone out. He realizes too late that Charlie is in a different timezone, but by some miracle Charlie is just getting back to her car after a salt and burn and answers after the second ring. She promises to head south and see if she can track down Y/N.

"I'll keep you updated," she promises. "It's almost a seven-hour drive, though, and I need a few hours of shut-eye before I get on the road."

Sam nods, stirring a bit of creamer into his coffee. "Do what you need to do. I don't want you putting yourself in danger."

"I'll text you when I'm on the road."

"Thanks, Charlie. I really appreciate it."

"Hey, man. After everything you've done for me? Checking up on someone is the least I can do. Plus, Y/N is a friend, too. But I know you guys are really close and it's not like her to be out of contact this long."

Sam leans against the counter, suppressing another sigh. It feels like he’s done that a hundred times in the last hour alone.

“Hey,” Charlie says gently, seeming to sense Sam’s distress. “We’ll find her.”

“Thanks, Charlie,” Sam murmurs. “I’ll let you get some sleep.”

They end the call and Sam turns his attention to his coffee, fighting to keep his mind from wandering.

“It’ll be fine,” Dean says from where he’s now sitting at the table, mouth full of eggs and bacon. “Eat some bacon and find something to distract yourself.”

“I’ll try,” Sam mutters, snagging a piece of bacon and heading off to his office.

* * *

Sam’s really glad they’re ahead on recording for _Criminal History_ because he’s able to lose himself in editing and getting the episode uploaded. Then he gets the next episode of _War Room _ready to go. From there, though, all he has left is to edit more episodes of _Criminal History_ and he just… can't. He can't sit in his office and listen to her voice when he doesn't know if she's even alive 

_No. Don't think like that._ He rubs both palms over his face, trying to scrub that horrible thought from his brain. _She's alive. She has to be._


	3. Chapter Two

"The manager said she never checked out of her hotel room. Her bags and stuff are still here but her car is gone."

Sam leans his elbows on his desk. "Fuck."

Charlie keeps talking. "That Allen guy checked out, though. Think you can track him down through your network while I keep asking around here?"

_Thank Chuck, something to do_. "Yeah, I'll start making some calls."

"I'm going to head over to the police station. She used her FBI cover, right?"

"Yeah. Agent Warren," Sam says, recalling one of her texts from her arrival in the town. "And her partner Agent Sanders."

"Good to know. Go make those phone calls. I'll update you on what the cops tell me."

After hanging up with Charlie, Sam begins making calls to a variety of hunters. He starts with ones he knows fairly well, specifically those who tend to hunt in the western states, and works his way out from there until finally - _finally_ \- he finds someone who can give him the number he needs.

"Hello."

The voice is gruff but Sam gets the feeling that man is young - probably mid-twenties.

"Is this Allen Burton?"

"Who's asking?" The man is clearly cautious, a common trait among hunters no matter how young they may be.

"This is Sam Winchester."

He can practically hear Allen straightening up, snapping to attention. "Shit. Sorry. Hi. I, um. I didn't know it was you, sir."

Sam can't stop himself from rolling his eyes. Great. Another fanboy 

"What can I do for you?" Allen asks.

Sam gets straight to the point. "Where is Y/N?"

There's an audible gulp. "She, uh - she's in the hospital."

* * *

Charlie finds her in the ICU of St. Mary's Medical Center in Colorado.

"She's going to be fine," Charlie assures him. Sam has collapsed into a chair in the library, overwhelmed with relief. "She's in a medical coma right now but the doctor says she should be ready to wake up in a few days. I'm going to stick around until she does."

Sam's glad he's alone in the library right now - no one can see the way he frantically scrubs at his eyes, relief flooding through him. "Did the doctor say what happened?"

"He doesn't know for sure - top secret FBI stuff, ya know - but he said she lost a lot of blood and had a pretty nasty head injury. They actually transferred her here about a day after she was admitted to that hospital in Utah. That's why I didn't find her when I looked there. St. Mary's has a better trauma center and ICU, and the doctors in Utah wanted to make sure she was getting the best care possible. Ya know, with her being FBI and all,” Charlie smirks. “So they had her sent here."

That fact makes Sam feel better. He's still itching to grab the Impala keys and drive out there, even though he knows Dean would kill him for taking the car without asking, and Y/N probably wouldn't want him there anyway. After all, they haven't even met in person yet.

_At least she'll have someone familiar around when she wakes up._

"I'll have her call when she's ready to," Charlie offers, oblivious to Sam's inner turmoil.

"Thanks, Charlie. I really appreciate you doing this."

"It's not a big deal. She's my friend, too. Plus, it's easier to keep her cover if I stick around. I can't believe Allen just left her."

At her mention of the young hunter, Sam grits his teeth. Allen had dropped Y/N off at the hospital, spouted off some story about her being injured on the job, and then left town without a backward glance or letting anyone know what happened. Apparently, Allen wasn't even there when Y/N was injured. They were separated once inside the nest and he found her unconscious in a pool of blood.

"I've been letting people know that Allen isn't a reliable hunting partner," Sam tells Charlie. "It's not that I want him to hunt alone or anything. I just want people to be aware."

"Smart. I'll let my own network know. I'm gonna go grab some food and find a room for the night. I'll text you an update in the morning."

* * *

Charlie keeps Sam informed on Y/N's condition over the next few days, including that the doctor has decided to take her off the medication keeping her unconscious. He has to fight to keep himself from pacing a hole in his bedroom floor, deciding to focus on editing a few bonus episodes of _Criminal History _to stay busy.

On day four, his phone rings in the middle of lunch. He snatches it up when he sees Charlie's name on the screen, ignoring Dean's curious glances.

"Hello?"

"Hiya, Chief."

The relief that washes over him at the sound of her voice is like a physical weight being lifted from his chest. "Y/N," he says, abandoning his sandwich and instead hurrying to lock himself in his office. "You're awake. I was so worried."

"I'm sorry for worrying you." Her voice is soft, a little embarrassed.

"It's not your fault. You're only human. What happened? Allen couldn't tell me."

Y/N sighs. "Allen and I were separated and a couple of vamps got the jump on me. I guess I hit my head pretty hard 'cause I don't remember anything after that. I'm sorry, Sam. I should've been more careful."

"Hey." Sam keeps his tone low and soothing. "It's okay. You're okay. Just promise me something?"

"Okay?"

"If you're ever facing a case like this solo again, please call me."

Sam doesn't try to hide the desperation in his voice and she clearly picks up on it. When she speaks, her tone is soft and genuine.

"I promise."

Sam nods, practically falling into his office chair. He finds himself staring down at the planner he left open last time he was in here - the one where he uses to organize and schedule everything that deals with _Criminal History_.

"How long does the doctor want you to stick around?" he asks.

Y/N huffs. "A few more days for tests and stuff so he can make sure I'm definitely okay. Then he wants me to take it easy for at least another week. I'm gonna die of boredom."

Sam smirks. "Not if Charlie brings you your laptop. We've still got a show to run, partner. That means research."

Y/N groans. Sam rolls his eyes. She would be perfectly content if Sam did all the research and prep and she just had to read his notes and record. 

"That head injury didn't change too much," he teases.

"Shouldn't being in the hospital excuse me from research?" Her pout is audible.

Sam chuckles. "Have Charlie pick you up a new phone so you don't end up stealing hers. I'll talk to you later."

* * *

You hate to admit it but Sam is right. You definitely would have died of boredom without being able to do research for the podcast.

The emails full of article and video links that Sam sends end up being a welcome break in the monotony, especially since he’s decided to do most of the research for you (this time). It's not the most exciting existence but it's definitely better than having nothing to do. Sam’s regular phone calls certainly don’t hurt.

Charlie heads back to Utah to make sure the vamp nest has definitely been taken care of but returns to the hospital once you're discharged and drive you to a nearby motel where she’s rented you a room. She hangs around a few more days after that - no one says anything but Sam probably asked her to. He can be a bit of a worrywart sometimes. You don't mind the company, though.

After Charlie leaves and you're given to okay to resume everyday activities, life pretty much goes back to normal. You take on minor cases, working solo or with hunters you're familiar with until you're feeling back to normal. You still talk to Sam on an almost daily basis - if not over the phone, via text - and ignore the happy butterflies in your stomach every time you see his name on your phone.

When you stumble upon a hunt that sounds an awful lot like a wendigo in Colorado, Sam's words from the hospital flutter across the back of your mind and you find yourself calling him before you even realize you're doing it.

He waves away all your insistence that he doesn't _have_ to come help you, the sounds of a duffel being hastily packed clear in the background of his voice.

"Dean and I will be there in about 9 hours," Sam says. "Maybe sooner, with the way Dean drives."

Dean. Of course Sam would bring his brother. You've heard good things about Dean - especially about his hunting abilities - but a part of you really wanted this to be just you and Sam, and that part of you can't help feeling disappointed.

“I don't really _want_ to bring Dean," Sam continues. "But wendigos are a pain in the ass, especially this time of year. The more hands on deck, the better."

_Okay. Good point._

"I'll meet you in Aspen," you decide, ignoring that part of yourself that still wants to ask him to leave Dean behind. "We can head up to the campsite from there. Let me know when you're getting close?"

"Of course."


	4. Chapter 3

The Impala is simultaneously absolutely gorgeous and scary as fuck.

You’re sitting in a diner on the edge of town when the black beast of a car pulls into the parking lot, a stark contrast to the crisp white snow piling up. You hear the roar of the engine first and twist in your seat to see it. Sam texted you about thirty minutes ago to let you know their ETA and what the car looks like, as well as what they’re wearing - you told him what you’re wearing as well so he should be able to recognize you. Your stomach flips at the sight of the car and you force yourself to face forward in your seat instead of staring.

The waitress has just brought your coffee when the bell over the door rings. You glance up and your breath catches in your throat.

You see Dean first. He’s tall, broad shoulders made even broader by his green jacket. Like most hunters, he’s dressed in at least three layers including the jacket, blue jeans, and heavy biker boots. He’s handsome in a classically beautiful way, with his strong jaw, plump lips, and carefully styled hair. Behind him, though, is a man who takes your breath away.

Sam is taller than his brother and handsome in a more… ethereal way? It’s not a word you would ever think to use to describe a man, let alone a fellow hunter, but it fits Sam’s high cheekbones and pointed, almost delicate features. He’s layered up, too, with a dusty orange jacket over a blue and orange plaid shirt. He brushes a hand through his long hair as he scans the diner quickly. Fox-tilted eyes land on you and Sam’s face lights up.

“Y/N!” he says happily, crossing the diner with a few strides of those ridiculously long legs.

Before you realize you’ve moved, you’re on your feet and Sam is sweeping you into his embrace. You loop your own arms around his slim waist and can’t resist breathing in his scent - coffee and sandalwood and a hint of vanilla.

“Hiya, Chief,” you say, grinning up at him. “Glad to finally put a face to the voice.”

Sam’s smile is captivating. He’s a little scruffy but that doesn’t hide his adorable dimples and it definitely doesn’t hide the beauty mark beside his nose. A sudden desire to kiss that little mark wells up in your chest but you quickly push that down.

“This is Dean,” Sam is saying, beckoning his brother over.

“Hi.” Dean offers his hand for you to shake, green eyes taking you in. He’s putting on a flirtatious front but you can see that he’s sizing you up, deciding whether or not you’re a threat.

“It’s good to finally meet you,” you tell him. “Sam talks about you a lot.”

Dean chuckles and relaxes a little. “Trust me, he talks a lot about you, too. It’s about time you kids finally met.”

Your cheeks heat up and you duck your head a little, hoping neither brother notices. When you glance up at Dean again, though, he’s smirking. _Shit, he definitely knows_.

“I hope this place has good burgers,” Dean says, thankfully choosing to ignore your (probably very obvious) crush on his brother. “Move your ass, Sammy. I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry.”

The brothers immediately start bickering, a back and forth that’s both hilarious and heartwarming to witness. You sit again and the boys slide into the other side of the booth, somehow managing to order their food without once breaking their stride. When the food arrives, Dean launches into teasing Sam about his grilled chicken sandwich. Sam just shakes his head and turns his attention to you.

“I’m so sorry you have to listen to this,” he says, his tone telling you he’s getting back at his brother a little.

“Hey now,” Dean protests. “I’m a joy to listen to.”

You can’t help a giggle at Sam’s eye roll. “I don’t mind, really. It’s actually kind of sweet to see you guys like this, considering the reputation you Winchesters have in the community.”

Sam’s expression softens at that and he turns his attention back to his food with a smile. Dean, however, pouts and begins shoveling food in his mouth.

“So, Wendigo?” Dean asks around a mouthful of food, interrupting the moment of silence that’s settled. “Haven’t seen one of those in a while.”

“We packed some camping gear.” Sam side eyes his brother, who actually looks kind of adorable with his cheeks full of food. “But I’m hoping we won’t have to spend the night outside.”

“I’ve got a room at the place down the street,” you say. “It’s mine for the week. I think they have some vacancies left so you guys can sleep in proper beds.”

* * *

After the boys get their own cabin at the Aspen Cottages, you decide it would be better to only take one car and all pile into the Impala. You, unlike Dean, don’t mind riding in the backseat, especially of a car as gorgeous and well cared for as the Impala.

The drive to the campsite is a bumpy one and you arrive around sundown. You hate hunting in the woods at night and part of you wants to ask the boys to camp until morning but you also don’t want to spend any more time out here than is absolutely necessary.

“Holy shit, it’s cold,” Dean says, popping open the hidden compartment in the trunk.

You nod, hopping in place a little as you bury your nose in the thick scarf you’re so glad you brought, tugging your hat down tighter over your ears. Sam and Dean don their own winter gear - Sam, you can’t help noting, looks adorable in a beanie - and then you head off along the trail.

* * *

The Winchesters are excellent trackers. Once you reach the campsite the last victims were taken from, they quickly pick up the trail of the Wendigo. Dean takes the lead and Sam brings up the rear. You get the distinct feeling he’s doing it to protect you but decide not to mention it. If you’re honest with yourself, it’s a chivalrous gesture you can definitely appreciate.

The forest is eerily silent beyond the crunch of three pairs of boots in the snow. No one talks beyond one or two words for about a half hour, before Sam moves in to walk beside you.

“You doing okay?” he asks, keeping his voice low.

“Sam,” you sigh, shaking your head in fond amusement. “It’s been over a month. I’m fine.”

You can see in the way he turns his head away from you that he would be blushing if his cheeks weren’t already pink from the cold. “Sorry.”

You bump his arm gently with your shoulder. “I don’t mind. It’s sweet.”

Sam’s cheeks turn even redder and he stammers a little. Lucky for him, Dean swoops in.

“Quit flirting, you two. That looks like our wendigo den.”

You follow his pointing finger to a pile of boulders against the cliff face. Behind one of the largest boulders is a dark opening you _really_ don’t want to go into.

“Why can’t monsters ever live in nice places?” you complain, already digging out your flashlight. “At least a cheery little cabin?”

Sam chuckles, giving his flamethrower a once over. Dean stares at him, appalled.

“What?” Sam lifts an eyebrow at his brother.

“I make those jokes and get an eye roll,” Dean says. “She makes those jokes and gets a laugh?”

Sam shrugs, shooting you a wink. “She’s cuter than you are.”

Dean pretends to gag while heat rushes to your cheeks.

* * *

“Hey, asshole,” you yell, your voice echoing around the cavern. “Fresh meat.”

The wendigo screeches, claws scraping against the stone walls and sending a shudder down your spine. Beside you, Sam readies the flamethrower as the sounds of the wendigo grow closer.

Suddenly it’s there, looming large in the beam of your flashlight. Sam doesn’t hesitate, the burst of flame striking the wendigo right in the chest. It screams and stumbles backward before crumpling as the flames engulf it.

“Good aim,” you say, relaxing as the creature is devoured by flames.

“Thanks.” Sam flashes you a grin. “We make a pretty good team.”

You shift a little closer to him, warmth blooming in your chest. “Yeah, we do.”

He leans down so his mouth is close to your ear. “I think next time we should do this without Dean.”

You laugh softly, hoping he's hinting at what you think he is as you reply, “Well, I did get my own room.”

Sam brightens up at that. One hand comes up to rest in the small of your back. “That's true.” Something in his tone and the firm press of his hand through your puffy coat suggests he definitely was hinting at exactly what you hope he was.

You allow yourself to be drawn in closer, enjoying the way his body feels against yours even through the layers of bulky winter clothes. Sam tips your chin up with one finger, colorful eyes flickering with wendigo fire searching yours for a moment.

“You’re okay with this?” he asks. Arousal shoots down your spine - something about the desire for consent combined with Sam’s velvet smooth voice is just so… _damn_.

You nod, lifting your chin in invitation. That’s all Sam needs. His lips press softly against your own, testing the waters. You want more, though, and are more than happy to let Sam know with a hand in his hair. He chuckles and obliges.

“Seriously, guys?”

You break apart frantically, stumbling a little. Dean laughs and brushes between you two. The girls you came to rescue, which he apparently found, giggle and follow. Once they’re moving off down the tunnel, Sam reaches over to take your hand.

Your stomach does more happy flips. Your heart agrees with the sentiment.


	5. Chapter 4

The hike back to the car and the drive back to town seem to take _forever_. You end up sharing the backseat with the campers. Thankfully the Impala is wide enough to fit you all without it being too squished, but it’s still too many people for you taste. Frankly, though, even just having Dean in the car would be too many people.

_Finally,_ the girls are dropped off at the hospital to get checked out and Dean drives back to the hotel. It’s a cute little place you were drawn to the moment you saw it, with its individual log cabins instead of the standard rooms.

“See you in the morning, Sam!” Dean says, scrambling out of the car and heading for their cabin without a backward glance.

Sam looks a little startled by his brother’s abrupt exit but he recovers quickly and turns to look at you.

“Hey, Chief,” you purr, leaning forward to rest your arms on the top edge of the front seat. “Wanna come back to my room?”

“Well,” he grins, “he has the only key to our room. But even if he didn’t, you’d know my answer.” Sam presses a gentle kiss to your lips. “Lead the way.”

* * *

Your cabin is a few down from where Dean parked. You hold tight to Sam’s hand, fighting the urge to run. Not only would that be ridiculous, it would also be dangerous. It was already snowing when you left the campsite and now it’s really coming down.

“You have snow in your hair,” Sam says once the cabin door is locked behind you. Long fingers brush over your head, turning snowflakes into tiny water droplets with the warmth of his skin.

After a moment, he drops his hand to unzip his coat and you quickly follow suit. His beautiful eyes are focused intensely on your face as you both strip down to your jeans and shirts. The hardwood floor of the cabin is cold against your bare feet but the air is warm.

"Sam," you murmur, reaching up to run your fingers through his messy hair when he pulls his beanie off. "Take me to bed?"

His eyes darken with lust and suddenly you find yourself lifted in the air, supported by his hands under your thighs. You squeal, throwing your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, and he laughs as he carries you to the bed. You expect to bounce a little when you're dropped onto the mattress but Sam's huge body presses down on yours, pinning you beneath him.

"God, you're beautiful," Sam says, pressing kisses under your jaw. "Gonna make you feel so good."

"Yeah?" You cradle the back of his head in on hand, guiding him lower with gentle pressure. "Tell me about it."

He glances up from where he's sucking a mark on your collarbone, hands creeping under the hem of your shirt to rub sweeping circles across your belly and sides. "You want to hear me talk?"

His fingertips are brushing against the elastic of your bra now, stealing your words for a moment. You manage a frantic nod as you press into his touch, trying to communicate your desire.

Sam smirks, lifting his hands to tug your t-shirt up and off. He tosses it aside before leaning down to press kisses along the valley between your breasts. "So soft," he murmurs, nipping gently along the curve of your bra. "I wonder if you're this soft all over."

Skilled fingers undo the clasp and he eases it off of you, dropping it off the side of the bed without once taking his mouth from your skin.

"Like fuckin' velvet," he continues, kissing a trail over to wrap his lips around one nipple. You moan breathlessly and he grins, moving to give the other nipple the same treatment. "You like that, sweetheart? Like it when I suck on these pretty tits?"

"Yes," you whine, fingers digging into his hair.

"I like it, too." Sam's beginning to make his way further south. "But I want to see the rest of you." His fingers land on the waistband of your jeans and he shoots you a questioning look.

You nod, lifting your hips so Sam can easily undo and remove your jeans. Your panties follow and Sam groans happily when you spread your legs for him.

"Fuck, baby," he says, kissing along your inner thigh with his eyes locked on your pussy. "Didja shave for me?"

"Nah, I just like the way it feels." Your clit twitches when he blows hot air across it. "You get to benefit."

"I definitely don't mind," Sam says honestly before licking a wide stripe from your perineum to your clit.

You gasp, thighs closing reflexively around his head as your cunt clenches. Sam laughs and pushes your thighs apart again.

"Don't smother me before I can make you cum," he teases.

"I'll do my best," you reply, squirming as he sucks lightly on your labia. "Oh my god, _Sam_."

Your voice jumps up an octave when he latches onto your clit, sucking hard. Sam's pleased sound sends vibrations through the sensitive nerves and draws a whimper from your throat.

Sam backs off, changing tactics a little to begin a slow exploration. He takes his time figuring out what makes you buck against his mouth and what just doesn't do it for you. Once he's satisfied with his knowledge and you're a squirmy mess of arousal, he focuses on pushing you towards your orgasm.

You hit that peak _hard_, your body seizing and your voice catching in your throat alongside your ability to breath. Sam eases you down. Once you're breathing again, he shifts to stretch out beside you.

"Fuck," he says. "That was gorgeous, Y/n." His hand is rubbing circles on your pelvis, inching lower. When you spread your legs in invitation, his fingers slip between your folds to press against your soaked entrance. "Gotta get your ready for my cock."

You tug lightly at the collar of his flannel. "You gotta undress first. I wanna see what you've been hiding under all those layers."

Sam dutifully wipes his fingers clean on the bedspread before rolling to kneel upright between your thighs. As you watch, he slowly unbuttons his shirt and slides it off his shoulders, his t-shirt stretching across his pecs and shoulders in a way that's absolutely obscene. 

The t-shirt comes off next, slowly lifted from the bottom, just to tease you a little. Your mouth waters as miles of tan skin, dusted with the perfect amount of dark chest hair, is revealed. Sam smirks, tossing his shirt aside.

"Like what you see?" he asks, moving to undo his jeans.

He shifts to stand at the foot of the bed, shedding the last of his clothes. Your eyes snap down to his cock as it bobs free, more than proportionate to the rest of him, and you spread your legs a little wider.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me," Sam growls, crawling up onto the bed again. His cock slides against your pussy when he leans down to kiss you. "Want me to fuck you? Split this pretty pussy open on my cock?"

You're nodding before he's even finished speaking, hooking your legs around his thighs and pressing his hips down against your own.

"Condom?" he asks, nibbling a new mark on the side of your neck.

"Birth control," you reply, digging a hand into his hair again. It's silky-soft between your fingers and Sam seems to like it when you pull a little. "And I'm clean."

Sam groans, cock twitching where it lies beside your clit. "I'm clean, too. You're sure?"

"Very. I want to feel you."

He grinds his hips down, sliding his cock through your folds. You whine when the head bumps against your clit and lift your hips to try and line things up.

"Easy," he says, lips finding a sensitive spot under your ear.

One of his hands worms its way between your bodies to line his cock up. You gasp when he presses inside, stretching you open with careful rolls of his hips. If he looked big, he _feels _even bigger. It seems to take hours before his pelvis is pressed hard against your own and there's a pleasing ache in your core that you've never felt with other men.

"You okay?" Sam asks, nuzzling under your jaw.

"More than okay," you say, shifting your hips a little. "Just - start slow?"

He kisses the corner of your mouth. "Of course."

The first movements Sam makes are verging on too much - too big, too long, too tight - but he pulls lube out of somewhere to dribble on his cock and that helps a lot. He's careful, keeping an eye on your expressions so he can ease up if he thinks you need it. Sam has always been good at reading people and he puts that skill to good use now.

"Sam," you groan, looping your arms around his neck and holding him close. "Talk to me?" Your cheeks burn at the request.

"You like to hear me talk?"

You give him a small, sheepish nod and Sam grins.

"Is it dirty talk in general?" he prods. "Or just my voice?"

"... Just your voice."

Sam kisses your cheek. "What do you want me to say? That your pussy is the sweetest I've ever fucked? 'Cause it is. So wet and tight around my cock. Can you feel me splitting you open?" He sits back to look down where you’re stretched wide around him. "Fuckin' hell, baby. Such a greedy little pussy, clinging to my dick. Practically sucking me in." He thrusts a little harder than before, grinning at your whine. "Like that? Think you could cum on my cock?"

You moan and guide one of his hands down to rub slow circles on your clit. Sam's skilled fingers, combined with his cock stretching you open in all the right ways and hitting places that have never been touched before, pull you into your next orgasm within minutes. Sam talks you through it, a steady stream of praise and filthy words in that honey-warm voice you've been falling in love with over the last year plus some.

"Sam," you manage, reaching up to pull him into a kiss. "Want you to cum in me."

"Fuck," he groans, the only warning before he falls over his own edge.


	6. Chapter 5

You're woken by Sam's mouth leaving a trail of kisses across your shoulder. His body is spooned up behind your own, strong arms looped around your waist.

"Mmm, good morning, Chief," you sigh, turning to catch his lips in a soft kiss. You brush his hair back. "Didja sleep okay?"

"Always do when you're here," he says.

His mouth starts a journey along your jaw and down your throat, sending jolts of arousal through your core as it goes. You catch a glimpse of the clock on the nightstand, though, and reluctantly push Sam away. He pouts.

"We slept late," you explain. "If we want to get all the recording that we need to done, we gotta get going."

Sam groans but acquiesces. You both dress quickly before heading down to the bunker kitchen. You're glad Sam didn't go on his usual morning run and is here to guide you through the maze that is his home. Even after a month of staying in the bunker, you still get lost sometimes. Part of you feels like the bunker is a giant, ancient creature who just likes to mess with you, moving hallways around like the staircases in Hogwarts. Part of you thinks that's crazy. Then again, how crazy would it really be?

Sam's hand linking up with yours breaks your train of thought. He finds the kitchen with ease. Dean is already sitting at the table, armed with a mug of steaming coffee. He gives you both a little salute as you enter, clearly not quite awake yet.

Sam pours two mugs coffee while you start getting together the ingredients you both like in scrambled eggs.

"Sam, can you get the medium skillet down?" you ask, digging through a drawer in search of a few forks and a spatula.

"Anything for you," he replies, easily retrieving the pan in question from its hook above the center island. "Do you need butter to grease it?"

"Knew I was forgetting something. I think it's behind the leftover pizza."

Sam makes a face as he pulls the pizza in question from the fridge. "Dean, this is disgusting."

"Hey!" Dean protests as Sam tosses the pizza in the trash. "That was a perfectly good pizza!"

"Dean, that wasn't pizza. That was Darwinism."

You roll your eyes at their bickering, letting the obvious love between them warm your own heart. They may not have the healthiest relationship on the planet but it's clear to even you, a newcomer to their little bunker family, that there's nothing they wouldn't do for each other.

"Here ya go," Sam says, pulling you from your thoughts.

You take the stick of butter he's holding out, cutting off a chunk to grease the pan with. Dean got new pans recently - the old ones were, well, _old_ \- and he's extremely picky about what goes into them. Cooking spray specifically has been banned from the kitchen.

Sam returns the butter to the fridge and gets a small bowl from the top shelf of the cupboard without being asked.

"Mind reader," you tease, taking the bowl.

"Maybe I just know you really well." Sam presses a kiss to the top of your head.

"Ugh. Someone shoot me," Dean grumbles, though you know he doesn't mean any harm by it.

"Why?"

You glance over to see Jack standing on the top step, rubbing at his eyes in a way that makes him look just like the two-year-old he is. His golden locks are a tousled mess.

"Good morning, Jack," you say, beckoning him over. He comes willingly and you straighten his hair out with a few brushes of your fingers.

"Morning, Y/N." Jack eyes the eggs and such you have laid out. "Scrambled eggs?"

"Yep. Do you want some?"

He nods. "Yes, please. You make them the best."

"Excuse you." Dean clutches his chest dramatically.

"You make the best burgers," Jack says with the brutal honesty of a child. "But you always overcook eggs."

Dean sputters indignantly but doesn't form an actual reply.

"Get a few more eggs out," you tell Jack as you crack the first egg into the bowl.

While Jack gets his eggs, Sam sidles up behind you to curl his arms around your waist. He tucks his face down against the side of your neck with a happy sound.

"Hello," you laugh, reaching up with one hand to pat the side of his head. "You gonna be helpful and start cutting things up? Or are you just gonna hang all over me?"

Sam hums softly and presses a kiss over one of the many hickeys he left the night before. "I like it right here."

"I like it too," you reply, turning your head to catch his lips in a kiss. "But the sooner we eat, the sooner we start recording, the sooner we can get to… _other things_."

Sam's eyes darken with lust and his grip on you tightens a little. Pink tongue darts out to wet his lips.

"What other things?" Jack asks innocently, setting three more eggs next to the ones already on the counter.

Sam blushes, cute little splotches of red on the apples of his cheeks. "Um, we uh - we wanted to watch some TV."

"Oh!" Jack, of course, is totally oblivious. Thank God. "What're you gonna watch? Can I join you?"

You exchange a glance with Sam before answering, cracking more eggs into the bowl as you do. "Not tonight, Jack. We kinda want to just have a little night to ourselves. How about we watch a movie tomorrow night, though? We can even get some snacks and stuff."

Jack dimmed a little at your refusal but he brightens again once more when you suggest a movie night. "Okay! That sounds like fun."

You add milk and start mixing up the eggs, adding the other ingredients as you go. "Maybe Dean and you can go to town today for some movie treats."

"Can we?" Jack practically begs, whirling to face Dean where he still sits at the table.

"I suppose," Dean grumbles into his mug. "We're running low on toilet paper too so I was already planning on making a run. Should just do a full grocery run."

Jack does a little happy dance.

The eggs cook up quick and soon you're dividing them up onto three plates. Jack snatches his plate up, mumbling a "thank you" around a mouthful of food as he heads to the table.

"He's been spending too much time around Dean," Sam says for your ears only, his soft smile telling you that he really doesn't mind.

After breakfast, you and Sam fill your water bottles and head down to the office. This is quite possibly your favorite room in the whole bunker after Sam's room. You love the cozy lighting, Sam's dark wood desk, the "Quiet Please. Recording in Progress" sign above the door.

Sam has added a second desk so you have somewhere to do your own work from the podcast but you've decided to just share a microphone when you're together like this and you happily wheel your super comfy desk chair over to sit beside Sam.

"Got your notes ready?" Sam asks out of pure habit - he knows you always have them.

"Do you?" is your teasing response as you flip open your laptop and find the tab with your notes file.

Sam just chuckles, reaching over the arms of both chairs to weave your fingers together at the same time he flips on the sign outside the door. "Ready when you are."

"Start the recording, big guy."

He does just that and you see the waveform on the recording software begin. Both of you stay silent a moment and then Sam gives you a nod.

You lean in a little closer to the microphone, Sam mirroring you on the other side as you say, "I'm Y/N-"

"And I'm Chief-"

Your eyes meet his over the mic and he gives your hand a squeeze before you continue with, "And this is _Criminal History_."

Sam glances over at his notes. "Today we will be discussing the case of the Servant Woman Annihilator, a serial killer from early Austin, Texas that history has, for the most part, forgotten. Y/N, you travel a lot. Have you ever been to Austin?"

"I haven't," you answer honestly. "But I've heard great things and I really want to visit."

Sam's smile softens a little and he brings your hand to his lips. "Maybe we could visit together?"

Warmth fills you, starting in your chest and making its way out to the end of every finger and toe until it feels like your whole body is glowing. You have a feeling the two of you are going to be doing a lot of things together for a very long time and you can't wait.

"I would like that, Chief."


End file.
